The Dark
by Mccorv3
Summary: Mulder and Scully are called in to assist the VCS with a horrible case that has some ramifications neither are truly ready for. The story is told from Scully's POV.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Please note there are some violent attack scenes in this first chapter - it may be triggers for some. I wish I could say it will lighten but as the title dictates, it's a darker look at a Scully and Mulder relationship.**

Dark.

Black.

I can't see. It's so dark. Everything is hidden in the darkness.

It hurts. I have to close my eyes to the pain. It spreads wildly through my mind. A fire set ablaze.

I'm being moved, dragged. The force tears at my arms. The cool cement floor grates against my back. My whole body seems to be aching with discomfort.

My head hurts. Everything is so dark. I can't remember… why I… I was in the basement. I don't know… I was looking… searching… Pain. The throbbing binds me, hindering my thoughts.

My movement stops suddenly. I open my eyes to the darkness. Dim. A face in front of me, above me.

Mulder?

It grins at me, this pale face with yellow teeth bared. Black hollow eyes stare at me. Pink chapped lips curl into a snarling smile.

I remember.

I struggle, kicking and scratching. I try to scream but I can't. I find a thick rag being jammed into my mouth, choking my voice and breath. I try to fight.

I'm losing. I'm losing to Brent Grendel.

He grabs hold of me. My head slams back into the cement floor.

And again.

Black.

Mulder walks into the office, a sullen look on his long face. He drops a file on the desk.

"VCS wants a hand with this," he mutters and sits across from me.

I open it. Someone's been taking the young women of Annapolis and killing them. I've seen it in the newspaper headlines. I read the file, reading for the first time the horrible truths behind these murders. The kind of truths that the public never hears about. The sickening truths.

The MO is the same with each case. The women disappear, taken quietly from their homes during the night. All of them are petite and young. Doreen Jameson, twenty year old college student. Becky Winlock, eighteen year old cheerleading captain. Jessica Bessel, twenty-two year old nurse. Smart young women whose only fault was being light blondes with bright blue eyes who mistakenly crossed paths with a dark abnormality of the human race. Their bodies are usually found three to four days later. The women were tortured. Brutalized. Raped. Mutilated.

I shiver when I see the pictures. Madness. Pure madness.

"They want us on this?" _What would VCS need us for_? I wonder to myself. The case doesn't seem to have an X-Files feel to it.

Mulder folds his hands neatly over his chest, leans back in his chair and stares carelessly up at the ceiling. "A bright light was reported the night the last victim was taken. A neighbor, an elderly man, saw it around the same time the investigators believe she was taken."

I frown. "VCS thinks these deaths have something to with aliens or paranormal activities?"

"No, Scully," he answers slowly and sits back up. "The public is scared and blaming the law enforcement agencies for not protecting their young women. They're grabbing at straws and our names were picked. They need help with a profile. Something to help them get this guy. So they called in the prodigal son to help."

I hear the bitterness but we help anyway.

We pour over the photos and details. Gruesome details. Raped repeatedly. Fingers missing, taken while the victims were still living. Bruises, broken bones and dozens of stab wounds at the end. Overkill. So much anger.

The young women did not die quickly. I pray they are safe now.

Another body is found. Nineteen year old Caitlyn Price. I perform an autopsy. I find what we need to get started. A clue, an imprint of a class ring.

Mulder does his thing. I watch him, dragging himself in deeper and deeper. I know why he left the Violent Crimes Section. I'm glad he left. It darkens his soul, burning it and leaving a mark on him that takes time, so much time, to heal. It bleeds him.

He goes alone as he stalks the mind of a murderer. I watch him carefully, watch him fall into the darkness. I can't follow him. I don't have the gift, the curse, to follow. I couldn't help even if I wanted to. He goes alone.

Another girl is taken. He's picking up his tempo. A time squeeze and her name is Brenda Anderson. We have less than three days to find her.

Then, suddenly, Mulder does it. He finds him.

Brent Grendel, thirty-five year old white male with brown hair and dark brown eyes. Six foot, two hundred pound man living with his elderly and disabled mother. Unemployed with a history of violent offenses and attempted rape. A monster.

We go to hunt him like the animal he is. A shabby apartment building in a rundown neighborhood. The team goes in.

For some reason, Mulder watches the scene quietly, distant. He drifts. A single look from his hazel eyes tells me his thoughts. Brent isn't at home. He takes care of business elsewhere.

Across the street stands an old office building, boarded up and shut down. All the privacy and darkness a monster would need. Mulder takes the upper floors, bounding up the stairs two at a time. I go down, drawn to the basement, dark and damp. A stale smell filters through my nose. I hear… breathing?

A force, a blow, knocks me to my knees. My gun goes skittering across the cement floor. I don't have time to cry out. Another blow.

And everything goes dark.

Pain.

Dark.

A hand grabs at me, shaking me harshly. A blur, a flash of memories trample my mobbed mind and I remember. I can't move. My hands are locked in my cuffs around a pipe. I'm on my back and helpless on the floor, gagged and bleeding. My vision is hazy in the darkness that surrounds me. My head hurts, pounding loudly.

My eyes focus on the figure hovering over me. It smiles at me. I'm scared. Waiting, Brent was waiting for me to wake up. He wanted me awake.  
I glance around me wildly. I'm still in the basement… I think, I hope. I haven't been out long, have I?

Mulder, I need Mulder.

I struggle, thrashing on the dank floor. I scream into the muffling rag, gagging me. _Hear me. Oh, please, hear me_.

It looms over me. "You're very pretty," it breathes, a rotting stench films around me.

It lowers.

_Oh, God_.

"Yes, bitch. Very nice. I'm going to make it very nice," Brent whispers huskily as his body makes contact with mine.

I try to kick it off. I strain against him. The weight settles over me and I can't move. Brent is too strong, too big. He b begins to touch me. His hands roam over me, violating me.

"You'll be a good fuck, little one," it groans, sliding its hand along my jawbone and grabbing hold of my throat. It squeezes with just enough practiced pressure.

Breathing escapes me. I can't breathe. My eyes open wide, frightened and panicked. I can't breathe! I struggle for air as I watch it slowly smile at my effort. The world around me is going silent. Completely quite. I can't…

Breathe. I feel the grip release just as my vision starts to go fuzzy. I breathe, drawing in all the air my lungs can hold.

My blouse is ripped open. Buttons fly, clinking against the surrounding pipes and floor. The air is chill on my exposed skin. My stomach churns as scaly fingers grind against my flesh, fumbling.

I will not cry. Instead, I fight again, trying to buck it off of me. Brent laughs and slams my body hard into the cement floor. I try to gasp for breath but the rag is blocking most of my effort. It hurts.

It covers me completely, playing with my body. "You'll learn, little one," Brent tells me. "I going to teach you a lesson you're never going to forget."

I hear a zipper unzip.

_Oh God, please oh God, no_.

"Such a pretty little bitch," it murmurs, squeezing one of my breasts hard. A tongue flicks out and wets my cheek.

I will not cry. A sharp pain pierces my right side. The cold steel of a knife drags along my side to my chest. It draws a trickle of blood.

Brent yanks my legs apart and moves under my skirt. My insides clench as it settles between my straining legs. It giggles maniacally, raising the blade.

"Usually I make it last longer but time's short, whore," it sneers and positions himself under my skirt, readying himself.

_Oh God, no, oh God ohGodohGodohGod_…

An explosion of force ruptures in the muffled room. The report of gunfire. Blood splatters on me. The weight falls off of me, toppling over.

Mulder.

He runs in, standing over Brent, aimed and ready to shoot again. Brent does not move. He can't. The part of his brain that was used for motion is now covering the floor.

Mulder pulls out his cell and dials. "I found Grendel. Across the street, basement. A hidden door under the staircase." He closes the phone and shoves it into his pocket.

Mulder turns and kneels next to me. I close my eyes because I can't look into his. I will not cry. He doesn't speak a word as he releases my cuffs and pulls off the gag. I respond with nothing. I open my eyes as I struggle to rise, careful to avoid my partner's eyes. He helps me to sit up. I don't need him to but I'm glad he does.

I try to cover my bareness with the shreds of cloth left on my blouse but there is blood coating me. So much blood. Patches of slick crimson against the cream of my skin. A slight tremble travels over me.  
Mulder pulls me gently to my feet. He slips off his trench coat and wraps it around my wavering form. His hands are shaking as he pulls it tight around me.

I look up. He is crying, tears flowing down his shadowed face. I know what he thinks. The man had his pants down and there is blood on my legs. Admittedly, most of it belongs to Brent. Still, he thinks I was raped.

"Mulder," I whisper. My voice is hoarse, hurting.

He just draws me into his strong arms, holding me close. I hear him swallow thickly, choking back a sob. He's in pain. I wrap my arms around his waist, returning the fierce hug.

"I'm okay, Mulder," I try to explain. "He didn't…" I find myself unable to say the word. I start to shake. "You came.."

I will not cry.

"Shh," he murmurs into my hair, tightening his hold on me.

Does he realize? Does he believe me? Before I get my answers, the Calvary arrives. Officers, guns pulled, pour into the room. I drag myself from my partner's arms. We shouldn't be seen like… like that.

Questions flood us. Mulder protects me. I am, for once, gracious.  
"We need a medic. Agent Scully was…" he struggles for the right words ".. attacked."

He leads me up to the ambulance, carefully guiding me. I hold on to him, my legs weak and unsteady. My mind is… jumbled from the ordeal. Dark motions rolling the world around me.

Mulder and a young attendant help me into the back. They lay me down on the gurney, slowly and gently. The attendant flashes a light in my eyes and begins to ask me questions. Ma'am, is anything broken? Are you having trouble breathing? Can you follow my finger please?

My answers to the attendant are dull, those of a drone. I don't focus on the questions. Nor on the pain swimming in my body. Instead, I focus on Mulder.

He's seated quietly across from me. His ashen face is hidden behind his large hands. His fingers grind harshly and methodically at his temples in small pressured circles. His body is hunched and drawn. I can feel his tension and worry. I slowly reach out a hand and touch it lightly to his knee. He peers through his hands at me.

I realize the moment my eyes meet his, it was a mistake. It's been said the eyes are the window to a person's soul. And in that moment when Mulder and I are connected, our eyes searching each other's, I see… I can see relief. I can see release… I can see…

We break. Our eyes shifting away from each other like dirty, naughty children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. My hand jumps away from his knee as if burned.

From the outside world, an officer suddenly joins our little group. "Sir," he says, turning to Mulder. "We need some questions answered. We'd like a word with you."

Mulder looks from the officer to me.

"Go, Mulder," I tell him stoically. "I'm fine."

He knows I'm not fine. But he goes anyway, taking only a brief glance back at me and walking away. It's what I want. Part of my being fine has always been about distance. We need it for the balance between us. And right now, after what I saw in his eyes, I need that distance.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: X-Files characters are not mine. **

I will not cry.

Not during my the questions, the examination, the stitches, the x-rays or the CT scan.

I am lucky they tell me. Lucky. They found the girl, Brenda Anderson, not far from me. She wasn't lucky, not as lucky as me.

They won't release me unless I have someone to drive me home and to help me. I don't want to call my mother, she'll worry. She doesn't need to know what almost happened today. It'll only cause her pain and I've already been the cause of too much of that. I try to bluff them with the I-am-a –doctor routine but they don't buy it. They tell me that I should know better then.

I'm still arguing with the nurse when Mulder walks silently into the room. "I'll take her home," he tells the nurse and she agrees to it. No one says a word to me. They leave for a moment to sign dismissal forms.

I say nothing when they return or when the nurse helps me into the wheelchair – hospital policy. I don't argue. I don't care. I just want to leave.

Mulder takes hold of the handles and pushes down the wide, sterile hallways. It's better this way. I don't have to see him. I don't have to talk to him. I still need space.

As we make our way outside, I notice for the first time that the sun is gone. The sky is an unhealthy gray, threatening complete darkness and thunderous rain. I shiver.

I haul myself out of the wheelchair, silently refusing any help, and take a seat in his car. He buckles in the driver seat and pulls away from the hospital. The drive to my place is endless. Maybe it's because of the silence that fills the cool air between us. We don't speak. It's not as if we don't have anything to say. There's probably much we need to discuss. I know he has something he wants to tell me. I can feel it building inside of him. Every second he doesn't say it, the heavier and harder it gets.

I don't help him. I don't help us. I stay silent and try my best to think of nothing, absolutely nothing. I stare out the window, watching the streaks of rain rush along. I watch the droplets hit the glass and connect with another and another. Each bead growing and swelling as it surges and flings away from the car. Pushed away, driven by force, and disappearing into the distance.

Suddenly, the endlessness ceases. My home is in view.

Mulder pulls the car into the slot, parks it and turns off the engine. He steps out of the car with a black umbrella and walks around to my side, opening the door for me. With his arm snaked protectively around me, we walk inside under the close cover of the umbrella. Too close if you ask me.

Upon entering my apartment, the first thing I do is turn on the closest light. It swallows the darkness. I feel better.

Mulder follows me into the apartment. I haven't asked him to stay and he hasn't offered. An assumption has already been made. I won't take it away from him.

I don't turn to face him however. No, distance is still necessary. Especially now… after all that has happened.

I keep my back to him as I slide out of my coat and tell him, "I'm going to take a shower."

As I walk away, disappearing into the bedroom, he gives me no response. And for another time yet this day, I am grateful. I can't talk to him yet. I still haven't digested everything that has happened today.

I snatched my pajamas from my top drawer and enter the bathroom. I peel off my clothes, letting them drop to the floor. The mirror shows me the marks a monster called Brent left on me. A soft purple ring encircles my throat. A jagged red line runs along my ribcage, itchy and tight. Shaded patches hoover under my eyes. A crossing of black stitches closing a wound on my temple. An array of thin scratches cover the rest of my skin in small patches.

But that is not all I see. I can see the darkness in my eyes. The brilliant blue fading against the darkness. The stain Brent left on me. I look away and try to shake the uneasiness that is settling into my bones, crippling me.

I climb into the shower, turning it on full force and steaming hot. I can still feel him on me. The dirty feel of him scraping against my flesh. I wash every inch of my body twice with a heavy, soapy lather. I scrub roughly, leaving my already bruised body red from the effort.

When the hot water fades to a cooler form, I turn off the shower. I towel myself carefully, wary of my soreness. I dress slowly, realizing I will have to face Mulder now.

A thousand questions shuffle through my mind. What will he say? Will he tell me what I already know? Will he tell me about the expression I saw in his eyes? My stomach is clenched in a strange sense of… anticipation?

I leave the sanctity of the bathroom, my red hair darkened by its dampness still. I wander into the living room at an easy pace. But Mulder isn't on the couch as I thought he would be. My anticipation turns quickly to apprehension. I look around me.

Mulder emerges from the kitchen with a pot holder in hand. "I made you something to eat."

I'm a little taken back but I try not to show it. "Thank you," I manage to reply and follow him into the kitchen.

Soup is on the stove, chicken noodle. The cure-all for anything that ails you my mother used to say. Somehow I don't think chunks of chickens and little white noodles are going to fix anything this time.

I'm not really hungry but I know I should eat something so I sit down at the table. Mulder brings me a bowl of steaming soup. I bare my teeth at him as thanks in something that resembles a weak smile. I pretend to be interested in my soup. He sits down across from me at the bowl he set up for himself. We eat in silence except for the howling of the wind echoing outside my windows. A storm is brewing.

I can feel his eyes on me, watching me. A tingle reverts up my spine. I raise my eyes to meet his but I find I cannot. His stare is focused on me but lower, my neck. His hooded eyes are converged on the darkening ring around my slender neck. I can see the dance in his unguarded eyes. Pain, horror and hatred mingling in a strange foray around a center of guilt.

Damn him. Why must everything be his responsibility? Why not mine? Damn him and his guilt. I'm a big girl. I can be held accountable for my actions and their consequences. I was the one who wandered into the basement alone. I was the one who foolishly ignored the space under the staircase. I was the one who let an armed assailant get the drop on me. Me, I was the one.

Damn him and the look in his eyes. The one I saw earlier. The one I keep seeing every time I close my eyes. The one hidden by sullen and tangled emotions now. The enduring and shattering look of… of… Such simple words. Every word I think of is too plain, too candid, too little. Trust. Faith. Passion. Devotion. Love. All too simple for what I saw in those endless hazel eyes.

He looks up and catches me catching him. A slow, child-like smile plays across his face. I want to smile back but I don't have the strength suddenly. I avert my gaze away from his. I've seen enough for one night.

I try and take another sip of the soup, so unappealing. I'm not half-finished but I can't eat anymore. There's a heavy stone settling in my gut. The burden of those eyes. Those hazel windows.

I push away from the table. "I'm not really hungry, Mulder. I think… I think I'll go to bed now." I rise from my chair and walk quietly away from him.

As I round the corner to my room, I hear him call after me, "Goodnight, Scully," in a low smooth voice. I release a breath I hadn't known I was holding. He's going to stay the night. I'm pleased. I was hoping he'd stay. I want him to stay… An admission I allow myself that sends a strange wave of heat to the core of me.

When I enter my bedroom, I notice my weapon has been returned to me. Brent had undoubtedly taken it from me when I was unconscious. Mulder must have placed it on my nightstand while I was in the shower. I feel a part of my security returning to me.

I pull my covers back and climb into my bed. There is only one light on in the room, the lamp by my beside. It forms a small but protective halo around me, fighting off the darkness. I reach to turn it off and then pause. A slight tremble forms in my out stretched hand. _No, I am not afraid of the dark_, I chide myself. I turn off the light and I am swallowed by the night. I am not afraid of the dark. I lay down and drag the covers up to my chin. I close my eyes and curl myself into a tight package. I am not afraid of the dark.

The lightning strikes brilliantly outside with the thunder rolling behind it. And I drift. Drift among the abyss of darkness. I don't want to dream, not in the darkness.

**A/N: Please let me know what you think.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: X-Files characters are not mine and I just miss them so I write about them instead. Another chapter that might have some triggers due to another attack scene. Sorry, it's a bit shorter but the darkness does continues...**

Dark.

Black.

Strangely dark and pitch black. And cold, so very cold. I feel like… like I'm hidden in a shadow.

And then… then the hurt. Pain, sudden agony. I don't know from what. I don't know where the pain comes from. I think… I think, maybe, it comes from the darkness. I am scared.

Again. Oh God, not again.

I'm positioned on the cold floor. I'm bound. I'm trapped. I can't move. I can't move!

I can see it moving, creeping in the endless shadows. Footsteps echo around me, surrounding me.

I hear the groaning voice booming around me. "Very pretty, very nice, you nasty whore."

Brent.

No, I shake my spinning head. No. _Brent is dead_, I tell myself. _He's dead. He's DEAD_! I start to thrash against the idea.

His face appears above mine smiling. "No, bitch! You're dead," he breathes in puffs of warm and rotting air. "You was long dead before I even laid a hand on you." A touch, a creeping sensation, travels to the base of my neck.

No, I shake my head. Not again. I struggle helplessly with him as he falls over me but there is no point. He pins me to the ground.

Brent grabs hold of my cheeks, squeezing harshly, and forcing me to look at him. My watery eyes lock with his pit-like black ones and I can see the mirrored darkness in them. A strange but familiar darkness. I'm scared, so very scared.

"Yeah, you see what I mean, bitch. You're just as damned as I am! Dead and damned!" he barks and slaps my face, disgusted with the same look he saw in my eyes. "Fucking whore!"

Now he wants to finish what he started. Heavy, all the pressure of Brent's body is pressed on mine. My clothes are ripped off in one forceful move, leaving me bare and numb. My thighs are ripped open as I beat a futile bound fist on his shoulder.

Brent grins down at me. "Dead is dead , little one. And ain't you the deadest whore I've ever seen." His hand takes hold of my throat and closes down hard. I can feel the strain of him against my naked thigh. The world around me starts to darken, everything turning black.

This can't happen. This isn't happening. No. No. No! NOOO!

I leap from under my covers into the darkness surrounding me. I fumble for my nightstand, my gun. My heart is clashing against the walls of my chest. I want my gun. I need my gun.

A figure races into the room. I raise my gun, cocking it. "Stop!" I shriek in fear.

"Scully?" Mulder asks cautiously, raising his hands and stopping on a dime at the foot of my bed. A shaft of illuminating lightning highlights the startled features of my partner.

Mulder. I almost shot Mulder. But Brent was… he was… My mind's a sleepy maze of jumbled memories and nightmares. I start to tremble as I lower the gun. I almost shot him. I was so scared. I can feel tears welling in my eyes.

"Scully?"

Nausea courses through my gut, a sickening lost feeling. I just can't do it anymore. I'm not made of stone, not matter how hard I may want people to believe it. I'm human. I can feel the tears running down my face.

"I… I-I'm sorry, sorry…" I start to babble. I can't help myself. "I didn't mean to… sorry, Mulder, I was dreaming… sorry… it was so dark… and he was…" I can't stop myself from shaking.

"Scully," he says softly. He hesitates, unsure. I know I'm scaring him but I can't stop. My whole body is convulsing with sobs.

Then I feel him around me. His weight next to me, holding me, securing me. I cling to him, latching on to him like drowning woman. I need, oh God, I need him. I need something, someone. I hang my head on his shoulder, wetting it.

His voice, soft and low, is whispering in my ear. He's soothing me with all the right words, comforting me. All I need to know is he's here. I need him here. I need him.

I've been crying for a while. How long? I don't know. Long enough for the pitter-patter of the midnight storm to have left unnoticed. Long enough for my sobs to be reduced to sniffling hiccups and my eyes to grow heavy from exhaustion. Long enough that I don't remember when he laid us down and curled us tightly together.

His arms are wrapped so perfectly around me, holding me gently. His calming words have stopped but his rhythmic breathing continues to reassure me. Mulder is here with me. It's still dark out but I don't need to be afraid. Mulder is here with me.

I close my eyes and listen to his deep breathing. I snuggle closer to him and he draws me in. His hands wander along my back, making old unused fervor kindle deep inside me.

I'm so tired, so very tired. I'm tired of being Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully. She has to be so strong, so willed. She is always on the straight and narrow. She has to know all the answers. And if that knowledge is less than forth coming, she must search for it. She is the truth-seeker.

I'm so tired of being her. She can't be tired, not ever. There is so much work. She can't show weakness. She can't show that she needs someone. She can't ask for help when she needs it the most. And most of all, she can't feel like this right now. She isn't supposed to like the feeling of her partner's strong hands roaming so intimately over her back and wanting to whisper in his ear a hushed murmur that she wants more, she wants to feel those hands on every inch of her body.

I'm so very tired. I'm tired of being strong, of the game, of hiding. Most of all, I'm tired of not living… of being dead on the inside.

I think… it's time to wake up. Time for me, Dana, to start living… Well, maybe in the morning. Right now, I'm so very tired.

**A/N: I'm hoping you are enjoying the story. One more chapter left.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Again, these characters are not mine and belong to Chris Carter but I sure do miss them. This is the last chapter so enjoy!**

Morning.

In a sleepy haze, I reach a slow hand out to search for my warmth. He is gone.

My eyes flutter open, the bright morning sunshine stinging them. I stare at the spot next to me. The empty place in my bed. Mulder is gone. My fingers curl around the blanket and draw it towards me. I can tell he didn't leave very long ago. I can still feel the slight heat of him radiating from his place next to me. My hand, fingers, skin soaking it in, needing it and loving it.

Then, as if my other senses had been aroused by the mere hint of him, I know he's near. I can hear him breathing. I can feel the slightest of shift in the bed with each intake and release of breath.

I roll over slowly, tangled in the sheets, and see him sitting on the edge of my bed. His back is to me with his head hanging down. A sorry figure encased in his own shadows.

"Mulder," I murmur, wanting to bring him back to me.

He turns his head, giving me a profile of his face. "Go back to sleep, Scully," he tells me in a dejected voice.

His tone alerts me. I struggle to sit up. My body is sore. The pain killers the hospital gave me have worn off. I run a hand through my wild morning hair. My hand rubs my eyes, ridding them of their sleepiness.

"Mulder," I mumble again.

He doesn't answer. He doesn't move. He is completely still, like stone.

I unravel myself from the sheets slowly and climb over the bed to him. I kneel slightly behind and next to him. He looks so hard, so focused. His mind is closed to all that is around him as he stares blankly ahead.

I reach out a hand, placing it on his tense shoulder. His while body seems to tune through his shirt and up via my hand. A strange and overwhelming sensation. I like it. Oh God, I am afraid that I love it.

Slowly, he turns and glances at me. His hazel eyes are wet and shiny, filled with unshed tears. A thousand unspoken words tremble on his lips but nothing comes out. He just stutters a breath and looks down at his woven hands.

I creep closer to him. He needs me right now. My hands rubs at his shoulder, trying to urge him to speak. He needs to tell me something. He needs me to know something.

His lips part and grated voice speaks, "I shot him. I didn't even give him a warning."

His conscience. He carries too much guilt, takes too much upon himself.

I shake my head. "Mulder, he had a knife. He was going to…" I pause and brace myself. "… rape and kill me. You had no choice."

He lowers his head further. "I didn't know he had a knife, Scully," he tells me in slow marked words. "I just saw him there, on you, and I shot him. I killed him without a second thought. I just shot him dead. I wanted him dead. In that split second I saw him… I thought he was raping you and I killed him."

Mulder has killed for me. Is that what he's trying to tell me? No, he's trying to tell me about the expression I saw in his eyes. The agony of unspoken desire and crying need for reassurance and rejoining from me. In his own insecure and obscure way he's telling me everything.

Rarely in life are we able to appreciate the moment when our world changes. The precise second when nothing will ever be the same. Usually, the moment is brief and rushed, whisking by us and turning our lives upside down before we realize our world has been altered forever.

Not I. No, even before I move, before I breathe, I know it's coming. This is the moment that will change me forever. And I want to saver every second.

I remember my promise. I am Dana now. Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully's just going to have to take a vacation, a long vacation.

I want to tell him I understand what he's trying to tell me. I want to whisper softly to him that I feel the same way. I want to murmur that I want him. These words of mine struggle to come forth but lay constricted in my aching throat.

Lacking the courage of words at the moment, I reach my arms around him and draw him toward me. I will tell him with my body. Slowly… so slowly I move. A decision made in a second. A life time to do it in.

I press my lips to his neck, a spot just below his ear. I can feel him move toward it. My fingers crawl up his back, around his neck and cheek. I turn his face around to mine. His eyes are closed. He doesn't want this to happen. He's scared of it. He's scared of what we might lose.

I'm scared too. My fingers tremble as I brush them lightly over his eyelids. But I can't stop now. In that moment, in the ambulance, when our eyes met I saw my partner's soul. I saw everything he was, everything he had to offer. I want that everything.

And as he opens his eyes, I hope he can see that image I saw mirrored in my eyes right now. Locked with those beautiful hazel eyes, I dip my head toward his. Our lips meet for the first time, a tingling sensation reverts through my body. The kiss is short and testing, as if neither of us is quite sure what to do. A small smile draws across my pale face as I realize it's true. We don't know what we're doing.

Then I feel his touch, his hand caressing my cheek, and I know what we're doing is right. Mulder brings his mouth back to mine in a soft, beautiful kiss. I kiss him back lightly and then more urgently as our tongues touch for the first time. We are held together, for an endless time, by a passionate kiss. A mingling and full connection that foreshadows what is to come.

My body, on its own, moves toward him, needing to feel him against me. His body turns, facing me completely, as if driven by the same need of touch. We press together hesitantly at first, like our first kiss, and then we mold together, no spaces between us. His hands run up my arms and across my back, drawing me ever closer. Our tongues mingle in a warm, erotic ballet, making me want him even closer. Closer.

I pull away from the kiss, biting at his lip. A moan flows out of him, deep and guttural. A sound that pleases me to no end. Mulder rushes forward and captures my escaped mouth in a kiss that remakes my very existence, making me feel alive.

His hand slips under my shirt and skitters along my ribcage, awakening my flesh. Oh God. His mouth teases mine, sucking gently and pulling slightly away. I can feel him smile as I follow his lips, trying to keep him close.

I need him closer. My whole body is alive, awake for the first time in memory. I need to feel him everywhere.

I grab hold of his shoulders and fall back onto the bed. He follows slowly. Too slowly so I jerk him down to cover my body with his. I take a fierce hold of his shoulder and back, kneading them with my feminine claws. He takes possession of my lips, parting them with equal force. The kiss is long and breathless. Everything I need. His hand travels under my shirt once more, his warmth striking a path up my ribcage at an agonizing pace. Take it away, all away. And he does with glorious pleasure of his fingertips. He touches me in places and in ways I never dreamed of with him.

Moans pour forth from my mouth instead of the words I want to say. Tell me I'm not dead, I try to speak. Make me alive, Mulder. Oh God, show me I'm alive. Nothing. Instead, I manage to murmur his name as his hand takes all of me in measuring me appreciatively for the first and brushing his thumb over my peaked nipple.

I can't get enough of him. I can't. I want more, so much more. I work my craving hands between our two bodies and pull at the buttons of his pants. He smiles against my hungry lips.

He pulls away for a moment and whips off his shirt, returning quickly to bring a devouring kiss to me. I take it in, our mouths mold together in pure heaven. My hands brush up and over his hardened stomach, giving me the groan I wanted. I allow myself the pleasure of discovery every inch of his muscular back, silken chest and taunt stomach.

He breaks the kiss and pushes small, biting kisses to my neck and collar bone. I arch and close my eyes. A shuddering and dire breath escapes me as my hold on him tightens, my hold clenches forcefully on his biceps.

Mulder stops suddenly causing me to open my hooded blue eyes. His eyes are fixated on my neck, a rushed breath expels from him. His eyes darken and panic strain starts to settle into their hazel depths. His weight lifts off of me in a rush.

"Mulder?" I breathe, confused

He steps off the bed, shaking his head apologetically. "Scully," he mumbles. His eyes won't meet mine as he backs away. "I didn't mean to…" Mulder turns and races out of the room.

He is gone.

A chill sweeps over my body bringing forth prickling goose bumps. I squeeze my eyes closed tight and draw my shaking arms around me in a forceful hug. A shuddering sigh escapes my bruised and wet lips. I will not cry. Rolling onto my side slowly, I drag the disheveled sheets and comforter with me. I draw them over my head, cutting out all the light and leaving me in the darkness.

Mulder is gone.

It's strange. I feel numb, inside and out. I know I should be upset. I should feel scared or ashamed or angry. I should feel something but I don't. Seconds ago, mere seconds ago, I was alive and vibrant in the arms of my partner. For the first time in a long time, my body was awake. I was living.

_What happened_? I question silently, curling my body into a fetal ball. My only answer is the dull thudding of a headache forming.

It felt so right. The touch of his fingertips across my soft skin. The feel of his lips brushing slowly over my neck. The taste of him mingling in my mouth, warm and masculine. The heat radiating between us. Everything felt so right, finally so right.

Now it's wrong again.

I'm so tired. So tired of fighting. So tired of losing.

I'm just so tired… dead tired.

**A/N: I hope the ending is not too disappointing. I know it's the happy ending that Mulder and Scully deserve and I am sorry about that. The story will be continued with Mulder's POV under a story titled The Light. I'm about half done with the story now so I hope to have it posted some time in June.**


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